


Feet of Clay

by jin_fenghuang



Category: DCU, Justice League, Justice League Action, Smallville, Superman - Fandom, Young Justice
Genre: Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-01-04 18:56:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12174702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jin_fenghuang/pseuds/jin_fenghuang
Summary: Set after the second season of Young Justice. The Daily Planet sends Clark Kent to report on the Luthor campaign.A big Thank You to Rosbridge for the beta!





	1. Chapter 1

METROPOLIS (AP) Luthor to announce candidacy at Metropolis Rally

"Jacob Johnson, Metropolis Journal." Johnson held his microphone up to the podium. "Mr Luthor, many have called you the hero of the hour."

Clark ground his teeth at Johnson's pandering. JL intel told a rather different story. Not that he expected someone from Carrie Castle's stable to throw anything but the softest of softballs at Luthor. Rumor had it that she had made some kind of deal with him to further her career.

"You are," Johnson continued, the simpering awe in his voice making Clark clench his fists in impotent rage, "not only solely responsible for neutralizing the Reach's attempt to drug humanity into submission but also played a key role in saving our planet from its ultimate destruction. Is it true that you were working against the Reach from the beginning?"

It wasn't just the Metropolis Journal that was getting to him. Clark hunched his shoulders and glowered at his notepad, the humiliation of the trial on Rimbor – and Luthor's hand in the set up – still fresh on his mind. Lois should be covering Luthor's campaign, not him.

The last couple of weeks had been full of news coverage of Luthor's _bravery_. Clark unclenched his fingers from around his crushed pen and surreptitiously pocketed the pieces. Thankfully no one ever paid him much attention. Getting outed as Superman was the last thing he needed right now. Still, what the Light had done to the main members of the League filled him with red-hot, seething anger.

"While some have called me a hero, I only played a small part in exposing and defeating the Reach." Luthor answered with camera-perfect fake humility that made Clark want to set something on fire.

I had to have been Luthor. Only Luthor could have masterminded such an insidious scheme. The Light had managed to discredit the League in the galaxy, had brainwashed them, used them to cause others harm and somehow in all that mess Luthor had ended up the big hero, lauded for saving Earth.

"Let us take this opportunity to mourn and remember the thousands of people that lost their life when the aliens showed their true face and attacked our planet," Luthor paused for effect, milking the silence for all it was worth before he continued. "–and honor the brave contribution of the young men and women of the Young Justice team, who helped defeat them."

"Mr Luthor, a question!" Clark had had enough. How dare Luthor use the death and destruction he'd caused to garner votes.

Clark accidentally on purpose elbowed Godfrey out of the way with a well aimed stumble, taking petty pleasure in Godfrey flailing and almost tripping over a camera cord. Clark pushed his way to the front of the press pit.

"Clark Kent, Daily Planet." Clark schooled his voice to the mild mannered cadence he was known for but locked eyes with Luthor in silent, furious challenge. Maybe if he pissed Luthor off enough Perry would send someone else next time. "My sources in the Justice League claim that you not only invited the Reach to Earth but set them up as villains to cast you as the hero. Is it true that you knew about the Reach's intentions from the start and risked the lifes of billions to further your political career?"

He held out his voice recorder, ready to catch Luthor's answer when the ceiling of the convention hall caved in, bringing with it a cloud of dust, debris and weaponized, flying monkeys. Robot monkeys. Cackling, chittering robot monkeys.

Robot monkeys at Luthor's Kansas Rally. Clark sighed. So that's what Ivo had been up to. There had been scattered rumors about Ivo's activities over the last month but the general consensus of the League had been that Ivo was nowhere near ready to cause trouble.

Clark pressed himself against the podium and turned his face away to surreptitiously inform the League of the attack.

Cameras and microphones hit the floor in a screeching tumble of crashing metal and reverb as people scrambled out of the way, ran from the attack. He was about to super-speed away when he noticed that he was caught in Godfrey's camera angle.

Clark didn't even have to turn his head. He could hear Godfrey's derisive, nasal drawl above the commotion. The GBS crew hadn't budged. They were fighting against the push of people fleeing the venue, camera rolling, getting live coverage of the attack, not carring about the chaos around them. Clark was impressed despite himself.

Several more monkeys alighted in a whirl of manic howling. They clung to support beams and chandeliers, surveying the room and then, having found their target, started to shoot. Laser bolts glowed red in the dusty air, filling it with the acrid smell of ozone. One shot hit the curtained wall behind Luthor, singeing the patriotic wall hangings.

Luthor nodded at Mercy and Hope, who'd already taken position aiming at the monkeys. Evading laser fire he jumped down from his podium and gracefully landed in the press pit next to Clark and the clutter of abandoned microphones and camera equipment.

Clark cursed under his breath. He scanned the scene, trying to find a way to conveniently disappear. Even though only a few daring camera crews had stayed behind to report on the attack – they had gotten out of the line of fire and huddled further away, near the exits – they all had their cameras trained at Luthor, leaving Clark caught like a fly in amber on tape.

He'd alerted The League and backup would be here in a couple of minutes. That would have to be enough.

Luthor looked him up and down and for one uncomfortable fraction of a second the world seemed to narrow to just the two of them. Then, with an effortless flip of his mechanical hand, Luthor upturned a nearby table, using it as cover.

"Get down, Kent!" Luthor snarled and yanked at his arm. "Or do you want to be collateral damage?"

Clark stumbled sideways, and cried out in pain as Luthor's grip on his arm tightened and he was pulled to the floor. Clark gracelessly fell backwards onto his ass, hitting his head on the leg of the upturned table. Goddamn Luthor and his goddamn kryptonite.

A glowing red laser bolt missed his head by mere millimeters.

Clark's eyes went wide. That had been close; too close. There would have been no way to explain away how he'd survived a direct hit to the back of his head without any apparent injury. Not with all the cameras.

"Thanks," Clark mumbled and swallowed around his unease, chagrined by the irony that Luthor had been the one to help him keep his secret.

Godfrey was inching his way closer to Luthor, camera trained on them, still reporting. Clark had to give him that. Godfrey was a roach, but he was a tenacious one.

The noise of gun fire right next to him made Clark turn. Luthor had grabbed a weapon from someone, maybe he'd been carrying all along, and was aiming at the robot, returning the fire from behind his cover. It was the perfect distraction to super-speed away and return as Superman when –.

"Stay down," Luthor ordered in clipped, annoyed words.

Clark drew in a pained breath and thought words he'd never say in public as Luthor's hand settled on his chest, the sickly green glow of the kryptonite ring radiating poison and weakness.

Luthor fired once more at the robots, then cursed and threw his empty gun at an attacking monkey with expert aim, taking out its laser.

Through the cotton wool of his kryptonite induced stupor Clark heard Luthor yell for mercy and for one befuddled second thought that it was unlike Luthor to give up this easily when he realized his error. Mercy kicked something at Luthor from across the room and for one glorious moment the kryptonite on his chest was gone as Luthor lunged to catch the gun. Clark pressed his lips together, not sure whether he approved or not when Luthor picked up the gun, cocking it with well-practiced motion.

He must have squirmed because Luthor turned and gave him an annoyed glare and then the hand was back on his chest. The blast waves of an EMP washed over Clark's senses just as the kryptonite dragged him into oblivion.

He woke again when someone gently shook his shoulder. Clark drew in a labored breath, trying to shake the aftereffect of the meteor rock from his system. The air smelled thick of ozone and smoldering plastic. Clark coughed.

"Water?" Lex offered him one of the small bottles from the conference table with a concerned smile.

"Thanks." Clark grinned up at him and rolled partially onto his side reaching for it. Lex's eyes widened minutely and he held onto the bottle for a moment too long and their fingers brushed. Clark swallowed around the sudden overwhelming onslaught of emotion.

Lex was crouching next to him, shirtsleeves rolled, looking just like he had over a decade ago and for the fraction of a second Clark felt fifteen again. He'd missed that smile, missed his friend with a sudden, almost physical intensity that belied the years they'd been enemies. Then cameras flashed and the moment was gone and Clark remembered all that had come between them since. He'd almost forgotten, no that wasn't true, he'd tried hard to forget that they'd once been friends. It hurt.

"Must have hit my head pretty hard," Clark mumbled and pretended to wince as he reached up to search the back of his head for a non-existent injury. He gave Luthor a watery smile, hiding his unease behind the truth. "I was out cold, wasn't I?"

"Yes, you were." He offered Clark his hand. "You really should get that checked out at the ER."

The pillow under his head turned out not to be a pillow at all but Luthor's jacket. Clark handed it back to him, futilely trying to brush off the dust clinging to it with his hand.

If he didn't know better – Clark had to fight to keep his expression from showing the bitterness, the hurt so inherent in the situation – Luthor actually sounded concerned. But it was all a show, Clark was a prop in this media circus, set-up, staged to make Luthor look the hero he wasn't, no matter how much Clark had wanted him to be in the past.

"Thanks, I will," Clark lied. His eyes lingered on the ring on Luthor's finger, the kryptonite within its gold casing but a low throbbing ache against his palm as he grasped Luthor's hand, accepted his offer of a hand up.

Clark focused on the pain, a welcome reminder of all what had come between them, and the friendship that could not be.


	2. Chapter 2

Clark precariously balanced his battered messenger bag, his travel mug and a bag of breakfast pastries as he held the door open with his shoulder, barely avoiding Sid. Sid, who all but skipped past him. As if the day couldn't get any weirder.

The sudden silence and subsequent snickers that spread through the news pit as he entered told him all he needed to know. Of course they knew. The picture of Luthor heroically protecting an unconscious Clark Kent had been plastered over every single front page at every single newsstand he'd passed.

Clark grimmly hung his head, trying to ignore his colleagues. He had an article about the trial on Rimbor to write.

He'd barely sat down when Lois came over, carrying a copy of the Metropolis Journal and an amused smirk.

"Are you trying to get him elected?" Lois teased as she leaned against his desk, pushing the photo he'd already cringed at on his way to work, toward him.

It was a good photo, and Clark could almost have believed that it was a candid shot if it had been anyone else. Luthor was down on one knee, firing at the attacking robot. The photographer had captured him in perfect profile. Gun-afire Luthor looked fierce, confident and very much in control. Clark, on the other hand, was lying unconscious on the convention hall floor, propped up against the back of the table, Luthor's right hand protectively on his shoulder.

"He's up ten percent in the polls," Lois commented with thinly hidden amusement. She leaned over and snatched his coffee, taking a sip.

"God, Clark, how many pumps of white chocolate syrup are in this?" She put the mug down, making a disgusted face. "Were they out of pumpkin spice?"

"That's seasonal and I didn't get knocked out on purpose." Clark tried to suppress the whine in his voice, wishing this day to be over. "Get your own coffee, Lois."

"You didn't get knocked out, Smallville. You fainted." She eyed the paper bag with new found interest. "I'll trade you a pastry," she offered, taking another sip from Clark's coffee, belying her previous complaint.

"How generous of you," Clark deadpanned and held his hand out for his travel mug. "I got you a bear claw."

Distracting Lois with food worked up to a point and he couldn't argue too much against the fainting. It wasn't as if he had a bruise to show.

"Thanks," Lois grinned and went up on tiptoe, one hand flat on the table for support, making a grab for the bag.

Clark stared at the photo, his mind replaying what had happened yesterday from bright yellow-sun enhanced memory.

Jimmy turned on the TV and Clark's head shot up and he blinked in confusion as his mental images and the news narrative overlapped and Godfrey's nasal drawl filled the room. Godfrey was interviewing Booster Gold, who had been part of the JL team sent to handle Ivo's robot monkeys.

And great, there was even more footage of Clark passed out and of Luthor taking off his suit jacket and folding it to a pillow and almost tenderly lifting Clark's head –

Clark stared out the window and – he cursed his super-vision – right into Luthor's office, where Luthor was sitting at his desk watching the same channel with a superior, smug smile on his face.

That it had all been for the cameras, all for that sweet ten percent hero bump in the polls, made Clark's blood boil and he vowed that he'd take him down for what he'd done to the Justice League, that he'd expose Luthor for the villain he was.

"You make a great damsel, Smallville." Lois snickered, licking the sugar of her fingers, turning her attention to her phone.

"Would you mind turning that off?" Clark snapped at Jimmy, and instantly regretted it. That had come out a bit more harshly than he'd intended, and none of this was Jimmy's fault. He hung his head. The memory of being mind-controlled too fresh, too potent to think clearly. "Sorry."

"A good morning to you, too, Clark!" Jimmy sauntered over, a shit-eating grin on his face. "Morning, Lois."

"What I find interesting," Clark interjected – he snatched the remote from Jimmy and turned the volume off with a longsuffering sigh. He used it to point at the now silent footage playing in a loop. "Is that Luthor had an EMP gun at the ready."

"Uhuh." Jimmy leaned over and squinted at the newspaper on Clark's desk. "That's one of Natalie's photos, isn't it? I love her eye for composition."

"Do you want something, Jimmy?" Clark huffed. Why was no one else taking this seriously?

"Uh yes, Perry wants to see you in his office."

-::-

"Take a seat, Kent." Perry gestured at one of the chairs that also served as Perry's filing system, along with his desk, the floor and well, any available surface.

"I promise not to faint," Clark quipped, as he shifted a stack of papers onto the floor and sat down.

"Funny that you say that." Perry gave him a look from behind his overflowing desk. "You have an interview with Luthor at ten."

"That's in –" Clark glanced down at his watch. "–not even an hour!" He made pleading eyes at Perry.

"And that gives you more than half an hour to prepare." Perry stared him down until Clark nodded half-heartedly.

"But what about my Superman story?" It would take him the better part of the afternoon to write up and edit the Luthor interview. He'd meant to spend that time _interviewing_ Superman, exposing more of Luthor's scheming. It could wait a day, probably.

"Sharp's covering that."

"Sid is covering a Superman expose?" Clark's voice rose an octave and his eyes went wide. No freaking way! Sid was the worst choice to interview Superman. He wasn't a bad reporter but something about Superman shortened a fuse. There was no telling how Sid would mangle the info, and taking down Luthor was too important for to screw up. But at least that explained the out of character skipping.

"Yes, that's what I just said." Perry shuffled some of his papers around. "Is that a problem?"

"No! No, not at all," Clark quickly apologized. There was nothing to gain in antagonizing Perry over this. He'd find a way, even if he had to work with Sid.

"What if Lois–" Clark knew it was hopeless and that he was starting to sound whiny but he couldn't help at least trying.

"No," White interjected and folded his hands, giving him a look that brooked no argument. "Great Cesar's Ghost! You have an in, Kent, don't waste it. Luthor hasn't won the nomination just yet."

-::-

The view from Luthor's corner office was stunning. Sheer glass walls showcased Metropolis' skyline in all its futuristic beauty.

Mercy had shown him to the office, even held the door for him. The juxtaposition of the courtesy he was shown and the dull throbbing malevolence oozing from the kryptonite bullets in her gun set Clark's teeth on edge.

He sighed with relief as she closed the door behind herself, leaving him alone with Luthor. It was almost amusing that being alone with Luthor was a relief. Almost.

Luthor was standing facing away from Clark, hands clasped behind his back, looking out into the distance and Clark – for one tiny nostalgia heavy second – wondered when Lex had gotten over his fear of heights, Luthor was standing that close to the glass.

Clark waited for a moment, wondering – no, certain – that this was some kind of power game, before he had enough and cleared his throat, announcing his presence. He didn't have to take this, he wasn't fifteen anymore.

"Good morning, Mr Kent." Luther turned around and started crossing the room.

"Good morning. Before we start the interview," Clark deliberately let the sentence hang in the air and when Luthor was almost close enough he held out his hand, schooling his face into a polite expression as Luthor involuntarily walked just the slightest bit faster to grasp his outstretched hand. "I'd like to thank you for saving me."

A small petty part in Clark took pleasure at the implied _but_.

"I only did what anyone would have done," Luthor replied with smooth, fake humility. His handshake was firm but his eyes narrowed slightly, clearly recognizing the slight.

He gestured at the modernist black leather and chrome chairs as he sat down himself, adjusting the fit of his trousers with a slight tug at the knee. "Please take a seat."

Clark had no delusion that the placement and size of Luthor's desk, even the precise height of the chairs weren’t meant to control, to intimidate. The chairs had clearly been custom made to be just an inch or so lower than Luthor's chair, so that his visitors would have to look up at him. Clark refrained from his customary slouch and sat up straight. It put them at eye-level.

It should have been satisfying but all it did was drive home that this was not Lex, not his friend, but Luthor, enemy of Superman. A Lionel carbon copy and any satisfaction Clark felt became ashes in his mouth. There had been a time when Lex had fought so hard not to become his father. Manipulating the chairs was gauche and something out of Lionel's bag of tricks. Lex would have sneered at it.

Luthor looked like he'd just stepped from the cover of Forbes magazine. Classically cut black suit, crisp white shirt and blue tie – that Luthor of all people was running as a democrat still baffled Clark.

The light from the window caught the bottled water that was set up in a neat row on the wet bar. Clark blinked. It wasn't Ty Nant.

Did Luthor think slumming it with convenience store water was somehow bringing him closer to the working man?

"Please, feel free to help yourself." Luthor misinterpreted his staring and gestured at the Dasani bottles. "Or to something stronger, if you'd prefer?"

"Water is fine." Clark got up and took a bottle.

He sat back down and concentrated on unscrewing the lid from the cheap bottle without drenching himself in water. He needed to focus and he definitely didn't need to wallow in the past.

Setting the bottle down Clark reached into his bag and pulled out his voice recorder, nearly dropping it in the process. He placed it in the middle of the table before turning it on. Why was this so hard? He was Superman, for heaven's sake. This should not rattle him as much as it did.

The shelf behind Luthor was barren of anything showing so much a hint of personality. A few choice awards Luthor had won and a couple impersonal nick-knacks. Clark cleared his throat.

"Why don't you tell our readers a little about yourself?" Clark hedged. It was as good an opening question as any. "I see you play pool?"

Clark instantly regretted his question; cursed himself for conjuring up happy memories gone sour.

Luthor turned, following Clark's gaze, looking at the sleek, brushed-steel pool table as if he'd only now realized it existed.

"I'm afraid I don't play." Luthor stared at the pool table a moment longer before visibly, forcibly refocusing his attention back to Clark.

"But you used to?" Clark probed, not willing to let Luthor get away with this so easily. Luthor's denial of their past friendship, of the hours they'd spend playing pool at the castle, hurt more than it should.

Luthor hesitated for the tiniest moment before reverting back to his polished media self. "Running a successful multi-national corporation sadly leaves little time for hobbies, Mr Kent."

Clark had to bite his tongue not to ask if his feud with Superman counted as a hobby, or playing fast and loose with human chess-pieces? But _Clark Kent_ had no proof of the Rimbor incident and Perry would have his hide if Luthor sicced his lawyers at the Planet. He shuffled his notes instead.

"You've been lauded for your actions during the Reach crisis," Clark keept his voice professional, staring at a spot on the wall behind Luthor's head and not Luthor himself. He didn't trust himself not to set him on fire. "Especially for your actions neutralizing the chemical compound the Reach tried to use to make humanity submissive."

"I was in the right place, and I had the resources," Luthor demurred. "I'm sure anyone in my position would have done the same to ensure humanity's survival."

"How were you able to fool the Reach into trusting you?" Clark probed, remembering the GBS footage of Luthor shaking hands with the Reach ambassador and Godfrey's annoying voice narrating, lauding the deal. "Especially since your skepticism toward super-powered aliens is well documented."

"It was surprisingly easy." Luthor had the audacity to actually look smug. "The Reach really didn't do their homework. As you already pointed out, my feelings on the subject is well known. I always have and always will put humanity first." Luthor's grin was sharp, shark-like, his hands steepled in front of him as he continued. "But then, we should be grateful for their blunder, shouldn't we?"

I guess, Clark thought. How they'd missed Luthor's well known bigotry was indeed a bit strange.

"I don't disagree with you on that, but what I would like to know, Mr Luthor, is what is going to happen to the formula? What are you doing to ensure it cannot be used against us in the future, be it for monetary or political gain?"

"The brave scientists who risked their lives keeping humanity safe deserve better than your unfounded suspicions, Mr Kent." Luthor narrowed his eyes at Clark, giving nothing away.

"That doesn't answer my question, Mr Luthor, nor does it anything to assuage the public's worries." Clark was not going to let him slither out of this. Next they knew Luthor would be using that formula for his own nefarious plans.

"The formula has been destroyed. There are no paper or digital copies left."

"And we can be certain of this how exactly? How did you ensure that none of your scientists made a copy?" If Luthor thought he'd back down on the issue he'd have it coming. He'd risk getting thrown out and banned from LexTower before that happened.

"Because I was the only one who handled the formula and I myself synthesized the antidote." Luthor's tone had steel in it now.

Clark nodded in frustration. The public would love this and Luthor would get another boost in the polls. Luthor _singlehandedly_ defeated the Reach. It made him want to barf onto the expensive carpet.

"Not that I want to discredit your formidable security but aren't you afraid that someone might steal it?" Clark tapped his pen on the table and plastered a fake smile on his face.

"There are no written copies, Mr Kent."

"Thank you for reassuring our reader." Clark tried to put as much sincerity into his voice as he could muster under the circumstances.

Even if Luthor wasn't lying, experience had taught him that Luthor had a near eidetic memory. He could probably reproduce the formula and how to synthesize it at any time.

"But let's talk about what happened yesterday. Luckily no one was severely injured during the attack on your Metropolis rally." Clark started, ticking off another topic on his list.

"I'm glad to hear it."

You don't care one way or the other, do you? Clark thought, watching Luthor's composed facial expression not change one bit at the news.

"My sources claim that Anthony Ivo was behind the attack, can you confirm or deny this?" It had been pretty obvious to anyone with eyes that those flying robot monkeys were Ivo's work and Clark wanted to know why. What had Luthor done to get on Ivo's bad side? Didn't they both work for The Light?

"Of course I cannot one-hundred percent confirm it yet, but what your sources say corresponds with what we suspect, that indeed Professor Ivo was responsible for the attack."

Luthor's non reaction should not have surprised Clark. Of course he had a waterproof statement ready.

"Do you have any idea as to why Professor Ivo would do such a thing?" Clark readied himself for story time. It wasn't as if he was gullible to take anything Luthor said at face value.

"I can only assume that it has to with LexCorp pulling his funding. You see, Professor Ivo used to work for me. And while his work in robotics is much flashier, he is actually quite the authority when it comes to nano-technology. Before his contract was terminated, Professor Ivo had been working on several LexCorp medical contracts but neglected them to dabble in non-authorized side-projects." Luthor shook his head in mimicry of sadness before he continued. "After much consideration, the board pulled his funding last week. His methods, as you, since you were there, can attest to, are too unorthodox to be safe. I can only guess that he took the termination a bit too personally."

The Light. Nano-tech, side-projects. Rimor. _Sugar Honey Iced Tea_ Clark thought as he connected the dots. Ivo was behind the Starro-tech chips and now Luthor didn't need him anymore. In fact, Ivo was in his way and Clark would not be surprised if he would _disappear_ for good.

Once again Luthor had used the League to his own advantage. Clark realized, with sudden frightening clarity that Luthor had to be stopped and that he had to be the one to do it. Not Superman, Clark Kent. Superman and the League had been outmaneuvered time and again but he had one ace up his sleeve Luthor was not aware of. Perry was right after all, he had an in and he wasn't going to waste it.

Clark schooled his face into the most pleasant expression he could muster. Forcing himself to let go of his anger – for the moment – he got ready to ask questions Castle would approve of.

"Mr Luthor, you are the CEO of a multi-national corporation. Our readers are curious to know how those skills transfer to running the country as President?"

-::-

When Clark left the LexCorp building and stepped out onto the street he cast one last look up the skyscraper to the penthouse.

He wasn't sure what he'd expected from this meeting but the perfectly pleasant interview had left him feeling empty and wistful. There had been not a single crack in Luthor's sleek, superior façade, not even the tiniest hint their past friendship and the man he'd once known and liked. In a way it made what he had to do easier.


	3. Chapter 3

-::-

Starling City (Reuters) Terrorist break-in at LexCorp subsidiary releases experimental virus.

 

"He did – did tha –" Green Arrow drew in a labored breath and sneezed wetly.

"Dude, not cool," The Flash complained, super-speeding to the other side of the room. "Vampire sneeze!" He demonstrated with dramatic flair and went to sit between Green Lantern and Clark.

"– on purpose," Green Arrow finished and glared at Barry. "And I resent being called a terrorist."

"You're an idiot," Hawkgirl noted, entering the Watchtower conference room. Her mace made a thud on the floor as she sat down with a huff. "Anyone with half a brain could see that that was a set-up."

"What's Luthor's plan?" Barry asked, disappearing and reappearing with a party-sized bag of Doritos before Batman had even turned on the projector.

"This is how we get ants!" Green Lantern let out and exasperated sigh, pointedly staring at orange crumbs falling onto the floor.

Barry offered him the bag, grinning. "We're in space, dude. Relax."

"This is how we get _space-ants_."

Batman cleared his throat.

"The Flash has a valid point. Do we know what Lex Luthor meant to achieve by tricking Green Arrow into releasing the virus?" Diana asked and to Clark's annoyance everyone turned to Batman for an answer. He usually didn't mind The League following Batman's leadership but Luthor was his responsibility.

"My people are looking into it." Batman's full-face mask was making his voice even more ominous than usual. "But my best guess would be bio-weapons."

"A virus based bio-weapon?" Green Lantern asked, looking worried. "That's definitely cause for concern. Do we have any proof?"

"Not of yet," Batman admitted. "STAR Labs analyzed the virus but it turns out that it's just as Luthor's press release claims: a modified rhinovirus." He turned to face Green Arrow and you could feel Batman's disapproving glare even from under his mask. "Essentially harmless, but highly contagious."

"Nothing Luthor does is harmless," Ollie challenged and reached for the tissues, noisily blowing his nose. "It's Luthor, for heavens sake. You don't need proof to know something exists."

" _We_ do before we can act and he does have legit military contracts," Clark said firmly and drummed his fingers on the table. "And as much as I don't like it, we can't do much about those. It is _not_ The League's place to go against lawfully elected governments." He locked eyes with Green Arrow who'd snorted at _lawfully_. "Which is why we have to stop him before he gets himself elected."

"Luthor is up to something, he's always up to something," Green Arrow muttered under his breath. He gave Superman a skeptical look and folded his arms in front of his chest. Clark suppressed a sigh. It wasn't as if Ollie was wrong.

"We know that Luthor bankrolled Ivo's Starro-tech chips and had a major hand in Rimbor," Batman pointed out and Clark cringed at the mention of their rampage.

He wasn't sure if he should consider his lack of memory a blessing or a curse. His parents kept telling him that it hadn't been him, hadn't been his doing or his fault, but he couldn't shake the guilt and that he had to face the fall-out of something that was a complete blank in his memory, made him irritable with the need to know.

"And that he has had a falling out with Ivo, as Ivo's attack on Lex Luthor's rally proves," Diana continued, where Batman had left off, tapping the screen of her reader.

"Do you think we can expect any more attacks from former disgruntled employees?" Barry swallowed around a handful of chips, sounding hopeful. "I mean, he threw Ra's under the bus. That's gotta come back to bite him and it would solve our problem..."

"While we shouldn't rely on that," Batman nodded. "My sources in the League of Shadows say that Ra's Al Ghul made it to the Lazarus pit in time. Luthor will have to watch his back. Ra's is no amateur and not as easily played as Ivo and his ilk."

Ollie rolled his eyes at Batman's ominous use of _sources_.

"Cadmus is still open, too, but I talked to the Guardian and he swears there's no more cloning going on, only legit medical research." Ollie's voice was uncharacteristically hoarse, making him sound almost like Batman and Clark had to hide a snicker at the unintentional mimicry. "He's still in possession of the Reach mind-control formula, though, and there's the issue of his lab in Starling City."

"Great job tipping Luthor off." Hawkgirl toyed with her maze. "How do we know the Guardian is not again under some kind of mind control?"

"I talked to him." Ollie held her eyes. "He's not."

"What I would like to know is why he turned down running for UN Secretary and is running for President instead?" Green Lantern folded his arms in front of his chest. "He was practically a shoo-in."

"We don't know yet." Clark did not particularly care to discuss Luthor's campaign, having seen the newspaper clip of himself in Luthor's arms that someone had oh so helpfully taped to the Watchtower's refrigerator, but since Luthor seemed to always be at least three steps ahead of them, this was their only option.

"But I have a plan." He squared his shoulders. "I'm keeping an eye on him."

"And–" Batman prompted.

The expectant silence stretched for a few seconds.

"No offense, Sups." Barry dusted his Doritos stained hands on his uniform. "But how is that different from what we've been doing?"

"It is true, what the Flash says. Plain surveillance has not worked very well so far. Lex Luthor has anticipated our moves at every turn, outmaneuvering us," Diana nodded in grim agreement.

"We have one ace up the sleeve, so to speak. Luthor's not aware of my real identity," Clark clarified, grinning at cleverness of his own plan. "Perry conveniently assigned me to cover Luthor's campaign."

-::-

Clark was queuing in line at his favorite greasy spoon when he heard the most unlikely voice in the universe call for him.

_Superman, help!_

Her plea cut through the susurrus of cries for help that enveloped the planet like a haze. Cries for help that he had trained himself to ignore, had to ignore for his own sanity, and it made him freeze up in surprise.

He'd never heard Mercy scared before.

Maybe that was it, he reflected later, what had him hurry off and forget reason and caution.

His super-hearing picked up Lex's labored breathing, his elevated, frantic heartbeat from the direction of the Suicide Slums. Clark was in and out of the phone booth when it spiked with fear and then – Clark was nearly there. It would be alright, he told himself. Lex was just unconscious, not dying. He had to be. He always was.

Clark arrived at a small, abandoned warehouse, still following Lex's gradually slowing heartbeat.

The kryptonite hit him in full descent, robbed him of his powers and he would have crashed right through the ceiling, had there been any ceiling left.

His last thought, before he hit the concrete floor, was that he should have known better than to trust Mercy. Panic flooded his senses as he lay on the floor trying to breathe through the pain. He was helpless, once again at the center of one of Luthor's plots. This was another trap and he felt like an idiot for falling for it, for walking right into it, for thinking that he could believe anything Mercy said.

Clark laboriously pushed himself up onto his side, waiting for the inevitable attack.

The broken warehouse walls bore the marks of a major battle. Whoever had attacked – whoever Luthor had attacked – Clark corrected himself mentally, had put up one heck of a fight. Hope was out cold, lying prone, her head resting on her outstretched arm, her back against a heap of rubble. Blood was trickling down her cheek, oozing from a wound on her head. His dimming X-ray-vision confirmed that, while she was alive, she had a concussion. A security guard, half buried under a chunk of collapsed ceiling, was dead.

Clark's hand slipped out from under him and he cringed in pain, his vision blackening around the edges as he hit the floor chin first, breathing in dust laced with kryptonite. This was bad, really bad. He cursed Luthor – and Mercy, especially Mercy – under his breath as he rolled over onto his back, gasping for air. Where was she anyway?

A piece of concrete hit him in the leg, making him raise his head in protest and he realized how wrong he had been.

Mercy was chained to pillar with, what looked like copper heating pipes ripped unceremoniously out of the wall behind her. Her mouth was set in a thin line and she was breathing laboriously through several broken ribs.

She jerked her head frantically toward the wall behind him. Clark sighed. What had Luthor gotten himself into this time?

The kryptonite scattered across the floor made it hard to think through the haze of pain. Whoever had Luthor had anticipated Superman's interference, or maybe this was just one of Luthor's _charming_ precautions coming to bite him – them – in the butt. Clark felt the green creep up on him, making it harder to breathe with every passing minute, and even harder to focus. He clung to consciousness with nothing but Kent stubbornness.

Clark fought to get up on his knees, panting hard. He needed to alert the League, needed to –. And then Clark saw her – it – and his blood ran cold. The stench was overwhelming and Clark wondered how he'd missed it before.

Brainiac. Or, more precisely, the shell of what had been a person that Brainiac had possessed, taken over, erased and was now using as its slowly decaying shell, to be deposed of for a new –

Luthor had tangled with Brainiac again, with predictable outcome.

Clark looked on in horror as Brainiac's biomechanical tentacles slithered out of the middle-aged woman's mouth and molded themselves to Lex's forehead.

Lex was the perfect host, Clark realized with gut-wrenching horror. He healed. Once Brainiac reformatted Lex's brain to suit its needs, Lex's body would repair itself and no one alive would be able to tell the difference. As much as he hated – resented – Luthor for what he'd done to them on Rimbor, he'd never wish this on anyone. Not even him.

Brainiac would charm, cheat and threaten his way to the White House with no one the wiser. And if Mercy hadn't called for Superman, he wouldn't have known either – not that he had much hope of getting out of this alive.

Too late.

He'd been in a similar situation before; incapacitated by kryptonite, watching Lex –The memory on how he'd failed Lex back in Belle Reve came back to Clark with crushing guilt. He'd been too weak to get to Lex in time, had taken too long to make up his mind. He couldn't let this happen. Not again. Whatever Luthor was now – wishes and horses and such. He had to do something. Then he spotted Lex's EMP gun on the floor, a few feet from his fingertips and if he rolled over and stretched just a tiny bit he could –.

His eyes locked with Mercy's across the room. This time he wasn't alone. Maybe that would make the difference.

Collecting his remaining strength with one deep, painful breath, he focused his laser vision on and cut through the pipes holding her to the pillar, only slightly singeing her in the process. A fraction of a second later he reached for the gun, flicking at it with his index and middle finger, pushing it over to her, the metal screeching as it slit across the concrete floor.

The League would be here soon, Clark thought, exhaustion battling the adrenaline that kept him concious.

"Let him go," Clark addressed Brainiac, hoping the diversion would work, would buy enough time. "It's me you want."

He heard, more than saw, Lex's unconscious body hitting the floor and then the tap, tap, tap of Brainiac's sensible old lady's shoes echoed through the warehouse.

"Ka-El. How nice of you to drop in." A deceptively frail hand closed around his throat, lifting him up, off the ground and Clark ineffectively pulled at it, tried to free himself to no avail. He felt the welcome pulse of the EMP blast wash over him and the last thing he heard before it all went black was the familiar sound of LexCorp security choppers.


	4. Chapter 4

-::-

"Thanks, Mom." Clark smiled gratefully at his mother and took the oversized mug, brimming with marshmallows. He inhaled the delicious scent of mint and dark, rich cocoa and then licked the sticky side of the mug, where the hot chocolate had spilled over. It was too good to waste.

Clark sighed contentedly and snuggled back into the nest of pillows and blankets his mother had tugged tight around him. Being home was nice, even if he felt like crap. Prolonged kryptonite exposure always left him feeling weak for a couple of days with what his parents said resembled a mild flu.

It could have been much worse, so much worse. He could have died there, Brainiac could have won. That was not a thought he wanted to dwell on. Luckily everything had turned out fine. Even Luthor was okay – J'onn had reassured them that no part of Brainiac was left inside his brain – and if anything that was more luck than he deserved. Feeling magnanimous, given mostly because Clark was feeling better and because Mom had made him his favorite cookies, he even thought he could be grateful toward Cadence, who had hosed him down outside the warehouse with the help of a fire hydrant. He'd been out dead from the kryptonite dust clinging to him. Clark shuddered at the thought, not wanting to think about how he could be strapped to a metal table in some underground LexCorp lab waiting for Batman to rescue him. Clark took another big gulp of his hot chocolate. He much preferred his parents' comfy couch and Mom's cooking.

Clark dug for the clicker among the blankets and started flipping through the channels, looking for a Warrior Angel rerun. He stopped on GBS news for a moment but there was no mention of the incident, not even on the ticker. It really shouldn't surprise him. Edge had all but declared him president already. Not that Luthor was absent from the current news-cycle, but the story concerning him was about the Metropolis General Hospital benefit gala. The footage showed him smiling brightly into the cameras as he gracefully climbed out of his limo, as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn't just nearly gotten his brain fried by Brainiac. Back when they'd been friends Clark had always admired his composure. Luthor's tie, he noted with amusement, was more purple than blue.

The coverage switched to Luthor presenting an oversized check to the hospital's children's ward.

"Good for nothing but money," Jonathan frowned at the TV as he sat down in his overstuffed chair, cradling a mug of coffee. He turned to Clark and gave him a warm smile. "You feeling any better, Son?"

"Yeah," Clark mumbled, his eyes lingered on Lex for one more second before he changed the channel. He felt slightly guilty for not defending Le– Luthor, but couldn't quite bring himself to, not after Rimbor. Luthor was doing this for the publicity. At least the hospital would get that check and that was worth something, wasn't it?

-::-

It had been a perfectly nice, boring museum exhibition opening; Clark thought, just as one of Cold's minions snatched the Rolex of Luthor's wrist and pushed Luthor at him, making him stumble in practiced imitation of human strength and crash on to the tiled museum floor. Luthor pressed to his chest.

Clark's glasses went flying at the impact and he heard the unmistakable sound of his phone breaking when he hit the floor.

The trajectory of the ice-gun swept over them as Captain Cold aimed at Charity's gun, whipping it out of her hand and Clark scooted back, protectively pulling Lex with him, his arms wrapped firmly around Lex's chest. Ice formed a thick, glittering shell around them, trapping them behind the upturned display case.

"Sugar Honey Ice Tea," Clark cursed under his breath as he scanned the room with his x-ray vision, his lips pressed together in annoyance.

Where was Barry anyhow? He should have known that even a replica of the Hope Diamond was catnip for the likes of Cold.

Lex rubbed his wrist, and Clark was suddenly very aware of just how tightly Lex was pressed to him.

"The idiots know that none of those diamonds are real, don't they?" Lex huffed, staring in annoyance at the already healing scrape where his watch had been and absentmindedly leaning back against Clark, into the embrace.

Holding Lex like this brought back memories of a happier, simpler time and for one guilty moment Clark let himself have this. Lex still wore the same cologne.

The moment was gone just as suddenly as it had begun. A ray of ice hit the ceiling above them, bouncing off the ice-dome a foot or so above them, showering them in cold, glittering snow. Lex froze and pulled away. He turned to look up at Clark, his voice wry. "And as much as I appreciate the rescue, you can let go of me now, Kent."

"Uh, I –" Clark blushed a scalding hot, violent red and scooted away from Luthor as far as their icy prison would allow.

Luthor folded his arms in front of his chest and leaned against the case, raising an amused eyebrow at Clark's embarrassed scramble. He stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles, looking as cool and composed as ever.

They were solidly trapped while Captain Cold's minions smashed through glass to get to the cubic zirconia.

How did this always happen to him? It was almost funny, Clark thought, but at least this way he could keep an eye on Luthor. That was the plan, after all.

"I'm sure The Justice League will get your diamond back," Clark tried to reassure Luthor, trying to make small-talk, not needing his X-Ray vision to see that Cold's gang had rounded up the other guests, taking their valuables off them.

"As if I'd put the real Purple Orchid on display," Luthor sneered and briefly looked at his wrist and Clark wondered, for one uncharitable but probably deserved moment, if Luthor had known that this would happen. It would explain him wearing a Rolex instead of his mother's gift. What it didn't explain was what Luthor had to gain from this charade, and Luthor always knew how to play any card handed to him to his advantage.

"Earth to Kent?" Luthor handed him his glasses, sounding amused.

"Uh, thanks," Clark stammered, pretending to miss them on the first try as he reached for them. "I can't see a thing without them."

Clark cursed himself for only just remembering that he'd dropped them. Luthor was anything but stupid. He'd need all the help disguising his identity he could get.

Luthor gave the abandoned silver serving-tray an assessing look then pushed it over to Clark. "Canapé?"

"That's food?" Clark picked up a porcelain-spoon full of bright orange foam topped with some kind of green powder.

"I doubt it." Luthor reached for one of the scattered pamphlets. "Alaskan Salmon Foam with Wasabi-Watercress Powder." Luthor made a face. "And those," he pointed at the artfully arranged stacks of something deep fried that looked marginally more edible "are Gumbo Croquettes with Saffron Aioli."

"Not food, then." Clark's stomach rumbled. In the background a red blur was rounding up Captain Cold's gang. Finally. He wondered how long it would be before he could –

"I could do with a Quarter Pounder myself," Luthor nodded toward the neon McDonald's sign visible in the reflection of the window.

The unbidden memory of them sneaking fast food, hidden away from both of their parents' disapproval in Lex's office, flashed across his mind, and he almost smiled.

"Yeah, me too." Clark swallowed around the emotions, focusing on the there and now.

"It looks like _our heroes_ are here," Luthor sneered and peered through the shattered glass of the display case, making sure the battle was over.

"A hand, Kent." Luthor pushed at the fallen case, expecting Clark to obey unquestioned. Clark bristled at the order but did as asked.

The metal creaked under the super-human strength of Luthor's mechanical hand and finally moved when Clark lightly pushed against it with his shoulder.

It slid across the tiled floor groaning with slow and steady effort.

Together they moved it easily and crawled out into the open. The Flash had rounded up the Ice Gang but neither the police nor ambulances had yet arrived. Clark gave him a nod and slightly shook his head, making it clear that he was here incognito. Besides, everything was under control, right?

Luthor stood up straight and brushed the dust off his pants. His face twisted into a frown as he surveyed their surroundings and Clark couldn't but agree.

The exhibition room was a dripping mess of overturned furniture, broken glass and melting ice. Here and there people were huddling for warmth, but there was no coordinated effort.

"Come on, Clark." Lex's hand squeezed his shoulder, his voice determined. "Let's help those people."

Clark turned to find Lex smiling up at him. It was genuine, warm and took decades of his face and Clark couldn't help but grin back.

One of the waiters was trapped, ensconced in waist-high ice, frozen in place by Cold's ice-gun. She was shivering violently, skin ashen and her lips an unhealthy shade of blue. She seemed to barely cling to consciousness.

"Get that tray." Lex pointed to an abandoned serving tray on the floor. He shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

"We're going to see if I can break the ice around your legs," Lex assured her, as Clark handed him the tray and he started to hack at the inches thick layer of ice.

"Clark?" Lex shot him a questioning smile. "You're stronger than me. Can you get her out? I'll see what else needs to be done."

Clark nodded and took the tray from Lex, chipping at the ice with barely more than human strength.

In the background Charity was handing back people's belongings together with a security guard. Lex was talking to everyone and anyone and suddenly seemed to be charge of the group effort.

By the time Clark could hear the sirens of the police, the ambulances, in the distance, Lex had not only organized and succeeded in freeing most victims but had found someone to sweep up the broken glass and clear the debris off to one side. He'd somehow even managed to get one of the waiters to go around, handing out hot drinks. Clark had always admired that about him, the way he could organize, how he knew what needed to be done and who could do it.

He took a cup of hot, sweet coffee from a tray and smiled.

–::–

Clark finished up typing his article about the Cold Gang incident and emailed it off to Perry. Stomach growling he ordered a meatball sub and fries at a small mom and pop place a few blocks from his hotel.

A small, grease covered TV was mounted on the wall behind the counter, tuned to the local GBS news station. Iris West was interviewing The Flash and Clark had to smile at how obvious Barry's love for his wife was.

West went on to cover the aftermath, and the warm, happy feeling of nostalgia that had enveloped him all evening was ripped away, leaving him cold and disappointed and bone tired. The footage played silently on the grainy screen but Clark didn't need to hear it to know that it was singing Luthor's praise. Luthor lifting a display case, Luthor with his sleeves rolled up giving orders. Luthor in charge, perfectly framed by the camera. Luthor with his hand on Clark's shoulder – and then Clark remembered that Luthor was good at that too.

Clark put a twenty onto the counter and left, suddenly not hungry at all. He shoved his hands into his pockets and hunched his shoulders. He was such a rube.

Nothing _good_ Luthor did ever came without an ulterior motive.


End file.
